Coleman,  Thaddeus  Charles 
Land  of  the  Sky 


George  W ashington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 
FAMILY  OF 
COLONEL  FLOWERS 


Digitized 

1  by 

the  Internet 

:  Archive 

in  2015 

https://archive.org/details/landofsky01cole 


lUE  LAND  OF  THE  SKY. 


AN  IDYL 


INSCRIBED  RESPECTFULLY 
— to — 
CHRISTIAN  REID 

 BY— — 

Wl  N  STAN  LEY 


The  Land  of  the  Sky. 

AN  IDYL. 


INSCRIBED  RESPECTFULLY 

CHRISTIAN  REID 
— BY- 
WIN  STAN  LEY. 


y2A 


jj)  H,  minstrel  fair,  if  prestige  of  thy  name 
J    The  waves  did  never  bear  to  foreign  shore, 
*z  Thou  hast  thy  meed,  too  oft  denied  to  Fame  !— 
Thy  people's  love — what  could  thy  heart  ask 


&WWW^         more  ? 


And  home  in  land  where  erst  the  Muses  taught 
Thy  hand  its  skill,  did  so  thy  theme  inspire, 
That  to  thy  shrine  our  willing  hearts  have  brought 
Their  incense  offerings  for  its  Vestal  fire  ! 

Oh  Minstrel,  lend  thy  touch  to  my  frail  harp, 
That  fain  to  land  we  love  would  breathe  a  lay ; 

Thy  hazel  wand  beside  the  rock's  rude  scarp 
Shall  cause  some  feet  to  linger  by  the  way, 
Wherein  my  heart  has  wandered  all  the  day. 


1 


Land  of  the  Sky,  on  whose  fair  breast  I  lie 

With  heart  resigned, 
And  gaze  upon  thy  face,  to  me  so  full  of  grace 

As  to  the  child  his  mother's  ; 
When  to  his  upturned  eyes,  filling  with  glad  surprise, 

Her  arms  about  him  twined: 
Ever  new  charms  appear,  revealed  through  smile  or  tear 

Unseen  by  others : 
Thy  heights  where  centuries  have  slept,  and  woke 
To  find  their  brow  unchanged  by  marring  stroke 

Of  times  rude  pen  ; 
Let  me  their  panoply  of  strength  invoke, 

From  fir-crowned  crest  to  sheltered  glen, 
For  thoughts,  for  deeds  of  high  emprise  ;  that  I  may 
keep 

My  soul  apart,  as  springs  of  water  in  thy  valleys  deep — 
Drawn  from  high  source  their  bright  perennial  flow — 

That  when  misfortunes  bitter  waves  may  break 
Resistless  o'er  me,  still  my  heart  may  know — 
As  they  beneath  the  torrents  turbid  flow — 
When  storm  clouds  burst  and  hills  and  valleys  quake, 
Its  source  of  Joy  secure,  its  trust  that  nought  can 
shake f 


I  5 

Land  where  the  summer  waits, 
In  long  expectancy  the  fateful  gleam 
Of  Autumn's  banners  o'er  her  broad  estates, 
And  waiting,  sleeps  to  dream  ! 

Dream  of  continued  days, 
Of  empire  changeless  in  its  emerald  dye 
Of  heraldry — dream  in  the  mellow  haze, 
Under  the  cloudless  sky  ! 

Dream  while  the  elfin  hands, 

By  night,  her  thin  shroud  weave  ;  so  frail,  so  fair, 
Her  warm  breath  meeting  melts  its  fragile  bands 
In  morning's  joyous  air  ! 

Sleeping  until  at  last, 

Through  her  thin  robe  she  feels  the  chilling  breath 
And  touch  relentless  of  November's  blast, 
Premonitor  of  death  ! 

Then  on  lone  eminence  the  while  she  lingers, 
Where  firs  and  ferns  still  hold  allegiance  true  ; 

Her  finished  shroud  falls  from  the  elfin  fingers, 
Her  startled  eyes  rest  on  the  wondrous  view. 


6 


Gone  from  the  mountains  all  the  halcyon  glory, 
The  chestnuts  bloom,  the  poplar  blossoms  lent ; 

Silent  the  sorrel's  bells,  unheard  the  story 
Their  murmuring  bees  prolonged  till  day  was  spent. 

Silent  upon  the  hills  the  gray  doves  cooing, 
AU  the  sweet  songsters  from  the  fields  have  fled, 

Gone  the  white  tents  that  hid  their  home  ren awing 
The  valleys  in  their  happy  welcome  spread. 

Gone  with  the  dream,  but  still  that  dream  recalling, 
In  pristine  form  the  hills,  the  mountains  rise, 

A  breath  of  June  that  lifts  the  thin  mist  falling 
Fans  the  wan  cheek  and  wakes  the  drooping  eyes. 

To  see  the  realm  she  nursed  and  deemed  had  perished, 
Crowned  with  a  glory  it  had  never  known, 

Had  Autumn's  hand  not  crushed  the  hope  she  cherished 
And  death  proclaimed  her  abdicated  throne. 

The  closing  eyes  turn  where  the  sun  descending 
Floods  with  soft  light  the  far  untrammeled  view — 

A  sea  transfixed,  its  magic  colors  blending, 
Its  faintest  outline  lost  in  fainter  blue- 


7 


Mountains  and  hills  and  vales  !  What  foreign  shore 
Hath  half  thy  wealth  of  beauty— Nature's  dower  ! 

Above  what  clouds  like  thine  do  eagles  soar 
That  are  not  fettered  by  the  ice-king's  power  ! 

Not  thine  the  relentless  frost,  the  glaciers  home  ; 

The  avalanche,  the  desolation  wide  ! 
Thou  hast  no  paths  thy  lovers  may  not  roam, 

No  glen  so  bleak  where  'Summer  may  not  bide'  ! 

In  contrast  lo,  the  long  defiant  line,* 
Clad  still  in  armor  of  the  days  of  yore, 

Where  battle  wrecks  thick  strewn  betray  the  sign  f 
Of  long-waged  conflict  now  forever  o'er  ! 

Still  gazing  west-ward  toward  the  receding  shore 
Whose  baffled  waves,  abandoning  the  strife, 

From  the  worn  elements  with  ages  hoar 
Made  new  creations  redolent  with  life  : 


*  The  Pacific  Coast  Range, 
t  Geologic. 


8 

And  in  Pacific  seas  of  other  climes 
Raised  peaceful  monuments  to  warlike  times. 
For  baffled  waves,  the  islands  in  the  sea 
Fit  trophies  of  disputed  victory  ! 

Oh  barren  mountains  !    Not  unlike  your  fate 
Had  been  the  fortune  of  our  native  land, 

When  war's  arbitrament  laid  low  her  State 
And  Might  had  bound  her  unresisting  hand  : 

If  wrapped  like  ye  in  sullen  robes  of  pride, 
Nursing  old  memories  of  a  bitter  wrong, 

In  attitude  again  to  battle  bide 
That  safer  lives  in  history  and  in  song — 

But  as  her  plains  in  Time's  remoted  Past 
From  Ocean  depths  in  Earth's  convulsive  throe 

Rose  to  these  heights  all  verdure  crowned  at  last 
So  to  their  heights,  from  vallies  black  with  woe. 

Her  sons — their  broken  swords  and  shivered  spears 
Laid  down  and  buried,  came  by  ways  untried  ; 

Wresting  from  dire  defeat,  through  peaceful  years, 
Achievement  Fate  had  to  their  Arms  denied. 


9 


Could  land  whose  thousand  streams,  at  urgent  plea 
Of  coast  beleaguered  by  devouring  wave  ; 

In  battle  joined  drove  back  the  invading  sea, 
And  built  her  cordon  barricade  so  brave.* 

As  still  defies  the  rude  Atlantic's  swell ; 

And  with  untiring  zeal  restored  the  spoil 
Of  inland  forays,  'till  each  plain  and  dell 

Are  lasting  monuments  of  patient  toil — 

Could  such  a  land,  for  war,  for  peaceful  art, 
Give  birth  to  sons  unworthy,  daughters  weak  ! 

Our  lips  are  silent ;  Fame's  historic  chart 
To  distant  times  their  deeds  enrolled  shall  speak — 

Time  may  run  back  and  bring  our  childhood's  lore 
Rich  with  its  tales  of  wealth  in  boundless  store, 
Alladdin's  lamp  revealed  in  days  of  yore  ; 
But  Mother  mine,  no  other  pearls  outshine 
Those  thou  dost  wear,  twined  in  thy  radiant  hair ! 
No  flashing  gem,  no  diadem 


*The  out-lying  islands  of  the  North  Carolina  coast. 


10 


Of  empress  crowned,  no  virgin  zone  unbound, 
No  treasures  rare  the  Ocean  caves  may  bear 

Can  rival  thine. 
Nor  hast  thou  hid  them  from  the  longing  gaze 
As  in  those  olden  times  by  devious  ways, 
Enchanter's  wand,  and  Cabalistic  art 
The  doors  unfolded  to  the  enquiring  heart. 
Not  thine  a  doubtful  form,  a  spirit  fell ; 
To  rise,  to  stand,  to  sink  at  wizzard's  spell ; 
Enthroned  a  queen,  the  smile  of  peasant  maid 
Speaks  in  thine  eyes  serene,  loves  light,  loves  shade. 

Wild  flowers  in  simple  wreath  thy  locks  withhold, 

Simple  the  tunic  o'er  thy  heart  of  gold ; 

Thy  face  unveiled,  its  vision  free  to  all, 

The  ungloved  hand  restrains  the  drapery's  fall 

That  still  would  leave  thy  sandalled  feet  unseen, 

But  should  we  seek  thee  in  the  copse- wood  green, 

On  the  brown  heath  or  in  the  silver  sheen 

Of  upland  forest  when  the  south  winds  blow, 

On  silent  peaks  of  rest  beneath  the  snow, 

In  tangled  wood  where  whip-poor-will's  lone  cry 

Vexes  the  ear  of  night  till  dawn  is  nigh  ; 


11 


In  fields,  in  orchards,  where  the  laggard  morn 
Wakes  to  compelling  sound  of  Hunter's  horn, 
And  fox  belated,  through  the  tell  tale  dew- 
Seeks  his  vain  covert  from  the  opening  view  : 
When  low  the  small  birds  pipe  the  rising  day 
And  high  the  robin  chants  his  roundelay, 
Where  eager  angler  vies  with  glancing  beam 
The  first  to  reach  the  banks  of  favorite  stream, 
And  swift  imagination  onward  flies 
To  mark  where  unsuspecting  quarry  lies  ; 
To  see  the  gaudy  bate  quick  disappear— 
The  reel's  sharp  twanging  note  delight  to  hear, 
The  short,  mad  conflict  o'er,  to  mark  the  prize, 
Break  the  smooth  wave  and  through  the  still  air  rise, 
Only  an  instant  later  to  descend 
Where  captor's  hand  decides  his  fated  end  ; 
And  while  his  fruitless  struggles  feebler  grow— 
His  gold  and  purple  markings  fainter  glow-  - 
A  tawdry  shroud  his  dying  effort  weaves 
Of  withered  moss  and  yellow  beechen  leaves  : 

But  not  a  linger  on  the  noontide  rest — 
The  simple  fare  with  hunger  for  its  zest : 


12 


The  pipe,  the  book,  perhaps  an  hour  of  sleep- 
Then  where  the  shallows  brawl,  the  eddies  creep, 
The  rapid  sport  resumed  till  evening's  shades 
Warn  to  the  homeward  path  through  narrow  glades, 
Till  wider  stand  the  enclosing  hills  apart 
With  here  and  there  some  sign  of  rustic  art, 
And  smoother  still  the  widening  waters  flow, 
And  slackened  speed  the  sportsman's  footsteps  show, 
Till  brightly  shines  from  out  the  sheltered  bend 
The  welcome  light  where  all  his  labors  end  : 
Where  through  the  meadow  streamlets  glide  along 
And  boding  owl  forbids  the  vesper  song, 
The  robin  sings  far  in  the  twilight  hour 
To  brown  mate  nestled  in  the  hedgerow  bower — 
In  ivery  place  this  wandering  verse  hath  named 
A  living  voice,  thy  presence  hath  proclaimed, 
Or  where  no  voice  revealed  thy  presence  sought 
Thy  jeweled  buskins  imprint  had  been  wrought. 

Mine  are  thy  heights  where  lonely  lichens  brave 
The  north  wind's  breath  when  all  his  bugles  blare, 
And  moss  green  rocks  where  rhododendrons  wave 
Their  crimson  colors  in  the  sunlit  air. 


13 


And  mine  the  dells  where  pale  arbutus  steals 
To  whisper  vows  within  the  violet's  ear, 
While  nodding  fern  the  try  sting  place  conceals, 
And  lest  the  listening  sylvan  throng  should  hear. 

Louder  his  laughter  as  the  brook  hies  on, 
The  red  bird's  call,  the  thrush's  note  more  clear, 
Bolder  the  wren  proclaims  the  winter  gone, 
The  blue  bird  plainly  utters  "  Spring  is  here." 

Thy  morning  mists,  the  fleecy  clouds  at  noon 
That  listless  brood  upon  a  summer's  day, 
The  evening  shades,  the  gloaming  that  too  soon 
The  sombre  wings  of  night  shall  chase  away  ; 

The  vesper  songs  of  birds,  the  breath  of  flowers — 
The  leaves,  the  grass,  with  countless  jewels  bright — 
The  stars  that  mark  the  weary  march  of  hours — 
All  these  of  thine  are  mine  by  filial  right. 

The  winds  that  sob  and  sigh  and  sink  to  sleep, 
And  wake  to  moan,  like  heart  that  pines  for  rest — 
Sleeping  to  dream  of  hope  and  wake  to  weep, 
Have  proved  companionship  through  years  unblest. 


14 


I  loved  the  ocean  once.    There  was  a  time 
Its  voice  of  waves  from  far  in  measures  fell 
As  welcome  on  mine  ear  as  vesper  chime 
To  maiden  waiting  for  the  solemn  bell, 

Telling  the  hour  and  place  of  fond  retreat, 
All  undisturbed  to  quaff  love's  ruby  wine  ; 
Heaven's  stars  above,  earth's  billows  at  the  feet- 
Fit  types  of  passion,  human  and  divine. 

Her's  were  the  stars  too  high  for  me  to  reach, 
Too  oft  obscured  by  doubt's  remorseless  reign  ; 
The  waters  mine,  that  flung  upon  the  beach 
Their  restless  energies  all  spent  in  vain 

With  tireless  step  beside  the  tireless  wave 
That  lit  our  path  with  phosphorescent  light, 
And  sought,  and  sought  again  our  feet  to  lave, 
Or  try  our  courage  with  its  threatening  height— 

The  wave  unheeding,  on  the  beaten  strand, 
The  way  unnoted,  guided  but  by  chance. 
How  oft  we  wandered  silent,  hand  in  hand, 
Lost  in  the  maze's  of  love's  mystic  trance. 


15 

How  like  a  dream  those  days  of  long  ago, 
How  faint,  how  far  the  vision  lies! 
How  like  the  ocean's  ebb,  how  like  its  flow — 
Thought's  tides  that  hastening  come,  that  lingering  go- 
How  like  the  summer  skies 
That  morning  gilds  with  rays  of  radiant  light 

The  winds  at  rest, 
That  noon  obscures  with  clouds  in  hurried  flight— 
Their  squadrons  lingering  on  the  verge  of  night 

Till  in  the  ruddy  West 
Another  host,  borne  on  some  counter  gale — 

In  silent  swift  array, 
Rider  and  horse  all  clad  in  burnished  mail, 
Scaling  the  mountains,  filling  every  vale, 
— The  allied  fleet  close  in  with  crowded  sail — 

Holds  the  contested  day. 
How  like  the  spring-time's  sweetest,  frailest  flower 
The  sultry  summer  seeks  to  find  in  vain, 
Is  youth's  first  love,  'though  lost  within  an  hour, 
To  manhood's  longing  search  comes  not  again. 


Where  is  she  now— the  maid  of  thoughtful  mein  ? 
And  he — the  friend  who  sometime  shared  those  hours  ! 


16 

Oh  dim  Elysian  Isles,  what  seas  between 

Those  barren  sands  and  your  once  blooming  bowers  ! 

That  hope  depicted  while  fond  love  believed, 
Despite  war's  ominous  cloud  that  swiftly  sped ; 
Despite  prophetic  doom  of  land  bereaved 
And  sorrow's  tears  o'er  valor's  bright  wine  shed  ! 

Are  still  the  returning  waves  that  bay  caressing 
Whose  fondling  arms  then  took  them  to  its  breast, 

To  love  that  chided  not  their  errant  quest  ? 

Blow  yet  the  winds  whence  fancy  then  descried 
The  bay  and  myrtle  overhang  their  shore, 
To  lovers  waiting  in  the  evening  tide 
To  catch  the  mystic  messages  they  bore. 

Falls  yet  the  light  from  out  the  western  skies 
In  tranquil  glory  on  the  land  and  sea ! 
Lingers  the  light  yet  in  her  constant  eyes— 
The  starlight  of  my  young  heart's  destiny  ! 


17 

Fadeless  on  memory's  sight  that  placid  glow 
Quenchless  the  light  within  those  eyes  serene, 
But  phantom  wings,  and  not  the  winds  that  blow, 
Convey  their  messages  from  land  unseen. 

To  those  same  sandd  whereby  the  sea  gulls  sweep 
On  tireless  wings  above  the  tireless  waves, 
The  stars,  the  same,  their  constant  vigil  keep, 
But  beaten  strand  I  tread  lies  low  mid  graves. 

Yet  thou,  oh  fairest  land  !  far  from  each  scene 
Whereon  Time  folds  in  vain  the  veil  of  years, 
With  thee  the  heart's  waste  fields  again  grow  green, 
And  life's  sad  chalice  is  sublimed  of  tears. 

The  sounding  waves  sweep  on,  with  passion  white  ; 
Destruction  waiting  where  their  vallies  seethe  ; 
Thy  silent  summits  stand  in  azure  light 
Guarding  the  sheltered  vales  that  sleep  beneath. 

Laurels  we  wreathe  and  flowers  of  fadeless  bloom 
For  fortune's  favorites,  but  when  evil  hour 
Crawls  to  the  bidding  of  the  stroke  of  doom, 
Our  fickle  souls  take  refuge  in  the  tower 


1-8 


Of  pale  expediency,  and  quick  make  room 
For  specious  doubt,  to  tear  our  gifts  away  : 
Thou  crownest  thine  in  sunlight  and  in  gloom  ; 
The  laurel  on  their  brow  knows  no  decay  ! 

Science  and  art  and  wealth  in  concert  vie 
To  raise  the  temple  and  adorn  the  shrine, 
But  blend  such  forms  before  the  wandering  eye 
As  blinds  its  vision  to  the  light  divine  ! 

Upon  thy  heights — His  footstool — we  may  kneel, 
All  human  sights  and  sounds  below  our  feet, 
Nor  one  distracting  qualm  the  bosom  feel 
To  break  the  spell,  accomplished  and  complete 

Of  cloud-girt  stillness,  rocks  to  earth  all  prone, 
The  aspiring  firs,  in  awe-struck  attitude, 
While  from  the  far  off  depths,  in  pauses  blown, 
Rise  the  low  symphony  and  interlude 

Of  falling  waters  and  of  rocking  pines ; 
And  over  all,  the  faultless  arch  is  thrown 
Whence  rise  the  stars  to  where  the  sun  declines — 
Fain  for  the  heart's  high  homage — silent— lone  ! 


Peace  hangs  her  ensign  where  war's  ruthless  hand 
His  flaunting  flag  and  torch  avenging  bore, 
(—Through  the  dim  vistas,  Time  !  uplift  thy  hand 
And  voice  in  prayer  that  he  return  no  more— ) 

The  spreading  light  that  on  the  horizon  glows 
Is  but  the  herald  of  the  sun's  advance, 
The  embattled  height  no  haughty  banner  shows 
The  plum  ed  knights  salute  with  peaceful  lance. 

Yon  darkling  march  along  the  mountain  side— 
The  east  wind's  swoop  upon  the  sable  firs  ; 
The  wreathing  smoke  upon  the  distant  tide- 
But  mist  on  fields  of  corn  the  west  wind  stirs. 

The  quick'ning  beat  from  hills  and  vales  around, 
Like  answering  echoes  of  the  startled  drum, 
Is  but  the  rustic  flail's  familiar  sound 
Of  bloodless  victory  oe'r  the  harvest  home. 

Along  the  valley  at  this  hour  of  noon,  f.j 
The  calm  that  broods  is  not  the  spell  of  dread, 
When  hearts  beat  low,  and  hearts  beat  high  that  soon 
May  cease  their  beating,  numbered  with  the  dead. 


That  sullen  peal  no  clash  of  arms  fortells, 
'Tis  but  the  signal  of  the  lightning's  play — 
Not  that  a  martial  strain  that  faintly  swells 
The  drowsy  air  in  glens  where  far  away 

The  bells'  melodious  tongues  in  music  friend  ; 
And  milkmaid's  call  floats  on  the  evening  breeze, 
While  lengthening  shadows  from  the  hills  descend 
Till  night  shab  set  her  stars  upon  the  frieze 

Above  the  low  horizon's  fading  glow, 

Where  late  the  entablature  of  golden  bands 

With  purple  fringe  above  and  flame  below, 

Upheld  the  mysterious  arch  "  *fbt  made  with  hands  " — 

Then  rest  we  here  ;  the  day  draws  to  its  close, 
The  cottage  there  beyond  the  limpid  stream 
Half  hid  in  vines,  invites  to  calm  repose  ; 
And  if  to  broken  sleep  comes  vexing  dream 

Oi  sounds  confused — of  straggling  lines  of  light— 
'Tis  but  the  brook  complaining  in  it's  flow — 
'Tis  but  the  autumnal  fires  that  mimic  show 
Of  weary  ranks  at  rest  from  march  or  fight, 


21 


Holding  their  bivouac  only  for  to-night — 
Ranks  that  the  falling  mist  will  hide  from  sight- 
Corps  and  batailions  that  we  once  did  know- 
Phantoms  of  forms  that  vanished  years  ago. 

*  *  *  * 

Ah  minstrel,  all  in  vain  thy  touch, 

On  harps  whose  strings  the  winds  alone, 

From  fields  forgotten,  move  for  such 

As  love  hath  tried  and  grief  hath  known  ! 

But  if  perchance  its  numf^rs  swell 
A  chord  in  heart  that  sad  recalls 
Some  twilight  hour  whose  'witching  spell 
The  song  birds  sang  in  madrigals — 

And  if  my  song  might  lure  to  leave 
Some  beaten  strand  beside  the  sea, — 
Some  spot  where  lone  heart  loves  to  grieve — 
To  know  these  heights  as  known  by  me  ; 


22 


Then  not  in  vain  my  idle  lay, 
Though  all  unlike  the  simple  tale 
That  hither  drew  from  far  away, 
To  mountain  height— to  mountain  vale, 
Full  many  a  one  whose  soul— whose  eye, 
Might  feast  on  Land  so  Near  the  Sky. 


FURMAN'S  PRINT,  ASHEVILl.E,  N.  C. 


